


you wanted to fight for a cause (then go out and fall in love)

by speechbubble



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Gen, M/M, Semi-Slow Burn, acquaintances/colleagues to friends to lovers, no regrets - only tropes, retirement talks, this is pure self indulgence but you are wecome to come aboard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-04-24 01:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19162621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speechbubble/pseuds/speechbubble
Summary: They had been acquaintances, teammates, friendly-but-not-quite-friends over the past years, so Dan isn't quite sure how he had ended up sneaking onto the podium at the Shanghai International Circuit in the middle of the night with Seb of all people, but here they are.There is something about being exposed up on the top step to any carelessly wandering (and not-too-night-blind) eye that makes it easier to expose some other things. Turns out there is some truth to the old saying of birds of a feather - even if you had no idea about exactly what you have in common at first.What starts with some unexpected truths spoken into the night may just grow into something much bigger.





	1. we start with smalltalk (but we know that it's not so)

**Author's Note:**

> …I honestly cannot quite believe I'm actually posting this. I haven't written anything in a long time, and haven't shared any of my writing even longer, but here I go. Shoutout to Charante_Leclerc whose hilltop confessions series tipped me over towards sharing this self-indulgent little thing instead of just letting it rot on my computer.
> 
> The title is from the song Small Talk by Call Security.

_Chinese GP 2019, Sunday Night_

Neither of them could say for sure how they had ended up on the podium hours after the race, hours after everything had been packed up and locked down and the parties had moved towards nearby bars, leaving the colourful confetti and empty champagne bottles to be cleared away by diligent workers, who also should have found their ways home by now. They were pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be up here, even though sneaking in had been easier than expected.

Sitting next to each other on the top step, in civvies, dark hoodies sheltering them from prying gazes and the cooling air of the April night, knees casually leaned against each other and gazing out onto the empty track and empty grandstands, they both felt… surreal. It was strange to think about the roaring parties probably still going on somewhere else – at least one of them in Sebastian’s honour no less – when all that stretched before them was the shadows of slowly cooling asphalt and the skeletons of grandstands and catchfences. Daniel tugged his sleeves down to cover more skin, dipping his fingertips underneath the fabric of the seam to keep them warm. His eyes flitted briefly over to his right. Seb had crossed his arms over his chest in a way that made him look young and cold and defensive, brows furrowed in thought as he gazed vaguely towards the twisting snail of tarmac that was made up of turns one to four.

Neither of them had spoken since they had made their giggling and shushing way up to the top step and Dan was trying to reconstruct the steps that had led him up here with Seb of all people. It was not that they hadn’t kept in contact, hadn’t been getting along fine in the last years, but they had never been close. Not in the way Seb and Kimi were, or Pierre and Charles. Daniel was well aware of the way they both tended to be friendly with everyone, but not necessarily friends – that took more than a couple of group dinners on race weekends or jokes in press conferences. Although Seb always did write those thoughtful Christmas cards that Dan really should be replying to more regularly (or at all, if he was being honest). But this, sitting here in silence, champagne all but a memory in their blood, felt more private, more intimate, than any time they had spent together before. (And yes, that included Dan running around in his underwear while getting changed, back when they were still teammates.)

“I’m thinking of retiring after 2020,” Sebastian’s voice was low but jarring as he broke the silence, raw like a secret.

The rumour had of course made its way up and down the media and the paddock, had been making its way for months and years, but deep down everyone had been dismissing it as the usual shit-stirring chatter of the media. There had never been a statement from Seb as straightforward as that. It had always been non-answers, dancing around a clear yes or no – “my contract right now runs until 2020, that’s all I’m thinking about right now” or “I want to drive in F1 for as long as it still feels like the sport I fell in love with as a kid”, but the actual word ‘retirement’ had never crossed Sebastian’s lips, as far as Dan knew. Dan stayed quiet for a while after Sebastian’s admission, confession, whatever it was, not sure how to respond, or if there even was a response needed. There were words on his tongue to make light of it, like a reflex – “well, we can’t all drive till we’re old and grey, like Kimi” - but that just didn’t seem right.

“I honestly have no idea what you want me to say to that, Seb,” was what he eventually went with. It was what came closest to appropriate if only by being just as honest as Sebastian’s words had been. Seb smiled a crooked smile and gave a one-shouldered shrug that brushed their arms together with a whisper of fabric.

“I don’t have any idea either,” he said with a breathy huff of laughter, unfolding his arms and resting his elbows on his thighs. “Maybe I just needed to hear myself say it to someone who knows what it means.”

“I dunno, Seb, I haven’t exactly won a championship or four,” Daniel smiled in response, the atmosphere still thoughtful and a little fragile, but the sudden wave of tension dispersed.

“You’ve driven those incredible cars though. You know what that feels like. You’ve won races. You’re the king of late braking. If the brakes work.”

Daniel playfully cuffed him on the shoulder for the last bit. “Charmer.”

“It’s true,” Sebastian shrugged again. He turned to look Daniel in the eyes before he continued, with a look that really drove the gravity of the conversation home. Dan swallowed at the vaguely uneasy feeling that had crystallised just underneath his sternum, a raw truth, an understanding of unexpected trust. “And you know what it’s like to always be watched, always in the public eye, always forced to return to all those questions they ask you, address every stupid rumour they come up with. Doesn’t matter if you say one wrong word or all the right ones, they’re all over you and your private life like vultures, because they can’t even stick to the topic of the sport.”

Sebastian averted his eyes again, instead frowning at a spot somewhere behind Daniel.

“I love our job and all the perks that come with it, but I also want to have the chance to just be a normal guy. As much as it’s possible.”

Daniel nodded slowly, weighing Sebastian’s words and measuring them up against his own feelings about the media and the drama and the circus that was their job.

“And you’re not like Kimi, who just doesn’t care and does what he wants.”

The mention of Kimi and his attitude drew the corner of Sebastian’s mouth up into another lopsided smile.

“And I’m not like Lewis either, who just seems to relish in it all.”

Daniel gave a snort of laughter at that.

“He sure does… even though his social media activities get him into awkward situations as often as they don’t.”

Sebastian didn’t reply, a frown suddenly back on his face, eyebrows furrowed, lips working against each other, and Daniel could almost see the cogs turning behind his eyes, looking for words. He turned his head towards the track again.

“Can I ask you something?” Sebastian didn’t wait for a reply, as if he knew he would lose his nerve if he did. “How did you pick the colours for your helmet?”

Daniel was blindsided by the question for a moment, then he remembered the calculated look in Seb’s eyes just before he had looked away and realised that the question was a lot more loaded than a casual inquiry into his taste, from one helmet fanatic to another. And that for some reason he had a pretty sure idea of what Seb was implying. He was leaving him an easy out, not specifying if he was talking about the one-off he had worn for the 1000th race, or leading the question into any precarious direction. Dan could just say he liked the colours and he knew Seb would let the matter rest. But something inside of him didn't want to let it rest, didn't want the easy out, wanted instead to take that unexpected trust he had been given and return it.

"I really thought no one would notice. I was being sneaky. Picking one of the less known pride flags," the words tumbled from his lips more easily than either of them had expected. Seb was looking at him with wide eyes, a little bit like he was seeing him in a new light. It lit a small spark of pride in Dan’s chest and washed relief over his shoulders.

"Is it solidarity or-" Good old Seb, always wanting things spelled out, wanting direct confirmation, no mincing of words. Daniel ran his thumbnail across his fingertips in a distracted gesture, watching the small dent move from finger to finger as he replied.

"I don't generally label it. It has never really been an issue so far. But it’s not just solidarity, no."

"Hm… kind of has to be a non-issue in this job, right?"

Daniel snapped his eyes towards Sebastian and found him already looking back at him, silent understanding passing between them. Daniel turned his gaze towards his hands and sagged in on himself, bumping into Sebastian again.

"Oh."

Sebastian gave a huff of laughter, pressing back against the half unintentional touch.

"Does anyone know about it, about you?" Seb cocked his head to the side, curious expression illuminated by the few orange lights burning through the night.

"A couple of my mates back home in Oz. My mum. I think my dad might know, even though I've never told him. Not that I don't trust him or that I'm really worried about his reaction but..."

"...Dads are just more difficult to tell," Sebastian shrugged in understanding.

“Yeah."

"It's never really been an issue for me either, but that doesn't mean that that part of me just doesn't exist. I sort of want to... be able to not keep it a secret. Be able to mention it at the dinner table and for it not be a big deal that the whole world will read about in the tabloids the next day."

"I get that. I mean I'm honestly too busy with all this," Dan gave a vague nod toward the circuit. "to really think about dating _anyone_ , no matter what all those rumours said about me and that woman at RB. And if casual hook-ups with ladies make that much publicity... people were all over me and Max already, what with all the PR stuff..."

Seb suggestively wiggled his eyebrows at that, earning himself another elbow in the side, less gentle this time. 

"There was nothing unprofessional or untoward going on, mate, I'll have you know. If anything, he's a bit like the little brother I never wanted."

Sebastian gave a weighing nod, as if to say ‘fair enough’.

"Nothing from his side either?" he then asked, obviously teasing now.

"Nah, mate, and even if he were inclined that way, his dad..."

Seb winced. "Yeah."

The tone was at risk of slipping back into awkwardness, so they went back to looking out over the circuit again. Daniel stretched out his legs, wiggling his feet in a distracted gesture.

"So, retirement?" Dan brought back up the thought that had started this whole soul-baring conversation.

"Thinking about it, yeah."

"I will miss our battles on track then, I gotta say."

"Will make it easier for you to win a championship though, having one or two fewer rivals out on track. Or you could try and see about that Ferrari seat again."

Dan hardly registered the second part of that statement, brain stuck on the way Sebastian was speaking about him winning WDC as if it was a possibility, an eventuality. Not that he didn't have the confidence to think he was championship material, but to hear that casual conviction in Seb's voice - Seb, who had been a goal to work towards, a team mate to learn from and then beat, a great rival on track, a four times world champion - it left him taken aback, and slightly proud.

"Thank you, Seb."

"What for?"

"Believing in me fighting for a title again eventually."

"Of course, you're a bloody good driver."

"Oh, I know."

“Humble as always, I see.”

_

Their conversations taper out eventually, they make their way back to their respective hotel rooms, the cold dampness of the night clinging to their clothes like a strangely joyful shared secret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, this was originally intended to be the first scene of a longer fic which I meant to write out completely before I posted anything, but yesterday's GP has thrown me into such emotional turmoil that I decided to just throw caution to the wind. I do hope to finish the fic eventually, but I can unfortunately give no guarantees, so hopefully this somewhat works as a standalone as well.  
> Thanks for reading if you made it this far ;)


	2. But since you’re putting up with me (here’s another toast just to you)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you so much to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first chapter, yous have made me so happy! <3
> 
> I can’t quite believe I actually managed to keep writing, however slow it was, but please have the post-race drinks montage nobody asked for - now with gratuitious tactile boys and my touch-starved ass living vicariously through them x)
> 
> I apologise for the probably inconsistent style, some rather lackadaisical research on my part wrt locations and layout details, as well as lack of proper editing. I hope you enjoy it anyway^^
> 
> Chapter title is from Let Me Down Easy by Gang of Youths.

_Azerbaijan GP 2019, Sunday Evening_

Sebastian caught glimpses of the highlight reel that was still playing on the flat screens at the hospitality when he got back after the press conference and team debrief. In between scattered handshakes and shoulder squeezes and congratulations on his podium place, he spotted one of the Renaults going for an overtake on a Toro Rosso. The number 3 was clear to read in black on yellow on the nose of the car as Daniel locked up, went straight into the run-off, and caused the Toro Rosso to miss the corner as well. The scene replayed from Dan’s onboard camera and then Sebastian watched in horrified amusement as Daniel put the car in reverse and just… drove right into the car stranded behind him.

Torn between laughing incredulously and wincing in sympathy, Sebastian fished his phone out of his pocket and sent Daniel a text in a bit of a kneejerk reaction.

_> You seem like someone who could use a drink tonight. _

_> Indeed. Drink the rest of my braincells away. _

_> You’ve got braincells left? _

_> I realise I’m not in a position to argue here… So, drinks – I’m buying as long as you don’t mention this race ever again. _

_> Never again? Not sure about that – deal for tonight though, I don’t hit a man who’s already down. _

_> Not sure I trust you… sending you my location, I’m getting a head start. _

Sebastian’s phone vibrated as a map popped up in the chat, a red pin pointing at a moderately fancy bar, in a side street of the main party mile of the city, close enough to the hotel most of the grid were staying at to be a quick taxi ride away, far enough from it to make running into too many familiar faces improbable. Sebastian briefly wondered if Daniel had spent the evening of last year’s Azerbaijan Grand Prix drinking in the same place, or if he and Max had been too busy shouting at each other or being shouted at by Christian or Helmut at that point. His friend really hadn’t been the luckiest driver on the grid this past year or so. He knew a thing or two about being unlucky though. Bidding the last team members lingering around the motorhome good night, he hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of the bar.

It was a short ride, and then a short walk, and then he was being greeted by the sight of Daniel, hunched slightly over the bar, one hand wrapped around a half-empty pint of beer. He was frowning at two full shot glasses – Tequila, judging from the lime slices resting on top of the small glasses – as if they had personally offended him. Sebastian walked up to him and clasped a hand over his shoulder, already reaching for one of the shots with the other. Daniel startled a little, but then shot him a smile that started out tight lipped before growing into something closer to his signature toothy grin.

“Always so fast, Seb,” he said, grabbing the slice of lime from his own shot of tequila and gesturing with it as if he were trying to clink lime slices instead of glasses.

“I hope so,” Sebastian replied. He sank down on the barstool next to Daniel and decided to roll with the off-kilter lime-slice toast.

“Congrats on the podium, mate.”

“Thanks. I thought we weren’t talking about the race though.”

“Ah, you’re right, we’re not.” Daniel’s eyes crinkled a little at the corners as his grin became ever more genuine. He let go of his pint and grabbed his tequila, raising it towards Sebastian. The rim of the shot glass glittered with salt.

“Well done Baku?”

“Well done Baku.”

-

_Spanish Grand Prix 2019_

Barcelona was not what either of them had hoped for, Sebastian missing out on the podium, Dan finishing outside the points. Sebastian was just packing up his suitcase, planning to leave early on Monday morning, when his phone chimed. It was a one-word message from Daniel that brought a lopsided smile to his face. Apparently, they were starting a tradition.

_> Drinks? _

-

_Monaco Grand Prix 2019_

For all that he loved Monaco and felt confident on the circuit, Daniel had of course known that he would manage nothing close to his performance from 2018. Qualifying in P7 with a still-underperforming car had felt good, and he had definitely not been as unlucky as Charles, whose race weekend had truly lived up to the home race curse. But there was that niggling dissatisfaction, with the car, with the pit stop, with the strategy, at the back of his mind, not letting him take his two points and be happy about it.

His fingers twitched for his phone, itching to text Seb for another commiseration drink, but he hesitated this time. Sebastian was probably out celebrating his race result with the team, celebrating the fact that even though they had not won, they had at least put an end to the Mercedes 1-2 streak. And besides, if anyone was truly in need of drinks and comfort from Seb, it would be Charles, wouldn’t it? So Daniel made his way to his flat, which felt just a little empty and anonymous tonight, flopped down on his couch with some brightly coloured isotonic drink from his fridge, and looked out over the rooftops of Monte Carlo. Someone had called it “Alcatraz for rich people” earlier, and right then, Daniel felt rather inclined to agree.

He wasn’t sure what exactly had brought on his melancholy mood – it was probably a lot of little things just piling up on each other, and if he really wanted to, he could look through his journal and name them all, but he knew that that would accomplish nothing. He decided to let himself wallow in it for one night, sink into the eternal open-ended question of whether or not his move to Renault had been the right decision, whether he was on the right path, and into the abstract and rather new longing for a more permanent home than this flat and this city provided. He valued the anonymity of the star studded streets, but it had also started to remind him of how it felt like one of the only places where he could feel like that, like one among many, effectively constricting his world to a bustling two square kilometres, a thirty-eight thousand people metropolis. And wasn’t that a strange thought for someone who had the privilege of traveling the world and being welcomed with open arms and cheering crowds.

He threw a side-long glance towards his phone, which was sitting on the coffee table next to him, resisting the impulse to text Sebastian after all. He could probably have messaged Nico instead, or Max, or one of the rookies, who would always be up for a night out, the shine of the F1 circus not dulled for them yet. Instead of giving in to the temptation, he picked up the phone and moved to his bedroom, setting an early alarm for a morning jog before turning on the “do not disturb” mode. Just as he was fishing for the cord behind his nightstand to plug the phone in and charge overnight, the screen silently lit up with a text from Sebastian.

_> Bbreakfast tmrw instwad of drinmks? _

Daniel broke out in a grin, sombre mood from just minutes ago forgotten.

_> Sure thing! _

_> grwat 😊 im bringinh charles if thars ok_

For some reason, Seb messing up his spelling was a lot more amusing and endearing than any other drunk or tired texts he had recently received – and he remembered a couple of true gems there. Maybe it was the fact Sebastian usually took great care with those kinds of details, always trying to be in control, and this was just one more glimpse into a more relaxed, less self-censoring off-track Seb, making Daniel feel a little special, reminiscent of the way he had felt that night on the podium in Shanghai just six weeks ago. Private and wondrous.

_> yeah no problem – kid could probably use some cheering up_

_> aamd s hangover xure_

_> Sounds like you might be needing one of those as well, mate! Just text me the place and time once you’re up and running tomorrow! _

_> will di goos nacht_

_> goos nacht to you too :D_

Daniel put the phone away once he recognised that Sebastian was not going to start typing another reply. Huffing a breath of laughter at his friend’s linguistic confusion, he turned his back to the window, pulled his blanket a little higher and closed his eyes with the remnants of a smile still on his lips.

-

_Canadian Grand Prix 2019, Saturday afternoon_

Daniel couldn’t contain the spring in his step, not even after the post-qualifying interviews and the team debrief. In fact, having to sit still and focus during the debrief, going over race strategies, had only charged him up with more nervous and excited energy. He would probably have to hit the gym for a good hour or so to tire himself out, bring him down enough to be able to fall asleep. He was just about to share his plans with Michael, who was steering him towards the baffle gates at the end of the paddock, when he spotted a familiar figure in red. Seb was chatting to the security personnel behind the gate, ever friendly, taking pictures with them and signing phone cases and shirts, Britta and Antti already further ahead, packing the car and talking to a small group of Ferrari mechanics.

The metal bar rotated to let Michael pass and Dan pushed the button on the column to let himself through the gate as well, bumbling just long enough for his friend and trainer to gain a couple steps lead on him so he could make a beeline for Sebastian unchallenged. Daniel snuck up on the preoccupied Ferrari driver, signalling anyone watching him to not give him away with an index finger pressed to his widening grin. When Seb jumped slightly under the hands falling heavily onto his shoulders, Daniel had to suppress a devious little snicker. Patting his friend’s shoulders, but not really releasing his hold on him, he moved forward to stand next to Sebastian instead.

“Seb, my man, pole position! Finally, some colour on the front row again! Well done!”

Sebastian wormed an arm behind Dan’s back, landing a hand between his shoulder blades with a little more force than strictly necessary or friendly – subtle payback for startling him, probably. The grin on his face was lighting up the whole paddock entry area though, excited and genuine.

“Hell yes, the car felt so good, we’ve still got a long way to go but fuck, does this feel good! And you! P4! Great job!”

Daniel preened a little, playing it up for shits and giggles (and because hell yeah, P4, baby – he would have a lot of defending to do the next day, and would probably not be able to hold the position, so he’d rather celebrate what he had achieved today than play it humble).

“Hah, yeah, Lewis is not the only one who’s pretty handsome around here.”

Seb gifted him with a slightly embarrassed half-smile and another slap to the back for that, before dropping his arm, starting to extricate himself from him. Daniel noticed belatedly that he had been encroaching on Sebastian’s personal space for longer than he had intended, and duly brought some distance back between them.

“It’s a second language.”

“Hey, no judgement from my side,” Dan raised his hands in feigned innocence, then continued with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle, “You can always speak your mind around me. So, like, tell me how handsome I was today.”

“Eh,” Sebastian scrunched up his nose and made a vague so-so gesture, accompanied with a once-over. “I don’t know about handsome, but you were pretty handy.”

“Rude. I was about to suggest getting handsy, but you completely ruined the mood.”

“Keep mocking my language skills – how’s the French coming along?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Daniel gave him the best bedroom eyes he could muster before breaking out into semi-hysterical laughter, which had an infectious effect on Sebastian. 

“Oi, Dan,” a half-forgotten Michael shouted suddenly, a couple metres ahead on the way to the cars. He had set down the bag and helmet that Daniel had handed over to him earlier and was tapping his foot theatrically, “Quit flirting, we need to leave!” 

Daniel let out another bark of laughter and turned back to Sebastian with an apologetic grin.

“Sorry, gotta go, the wife’s getting jealous,” he said with a wink, ignoring Michael’s “I heard that!” and clasped Seb’s offered hand in a firm handshake, “see you tomorrow, front of the grid.”

“Sure thing, let’s bring this one home, huh,” Sebastian replied and then waved at Michael in acknowledgement, “sorry for keeping him.”

“Oh, you can keep him any other time, he’s housetrained and all, we’re just a little behind schedule right now,” Michael waved him off, “Congrats on pole though, well done!”

-

_Canadian Grand Prix 2019, Sunday night_

The mood at the Ferrari garage was subdued despite the double podium finish. A couple of people from the PR and the strategy department were still bustling about, busy with preparing the appeal on the five second penalty. Even with the podium champagne and a couple extra drinks buzzing in his veins, Sebastian was still fuming. Charles was scrolling down his instagram next to him, silently keeping him company along with Britta, Antti, and a couple of others from the team, as the scattered and somewhat half-hearted party around them wound down, already in its final throes. Angry as he was with the stewards’ decision on the incident with Lewis, Sebastian really did appreciate the solidarity, and tried his best to not let his frustration out on any of them.

He had already told Charles several times that he was proud of him for another solid drive, and as he glimpsed a picture of a familiar, tired but smiling, face on Charles’s phone, he realised that another congratulation was in order, and typed out a quick message on his own phone.

_> Well done! Congratulations on your race! _

_> thx, you too!!! Fuck thosr bastards u fuckign won that shit! _

The message was quickly followed up by a screenshot of him switching the number one and two signs around, captioned in all caps with the words _“YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND”_. He had heard several drivers already speaking out in support of him earlier that evening, and Charles and Britta had been showing him a couple of (probably very carefully chosen) online reactions to cheer him up. His symbolic protest in parc fermé had elicited several enthusiastic proclamations already. That particular message on his phone was the first to bring a genuine smile to his face though.

_> Thank you. _

_> just telling it as it is mate. _

_> Hangover breakfast tomorrow? _

_> u bet_

_> Text me when you’re up. Goos nacht 😉_

_> gnight seb_

-

_French Grand Prix 2019, Sunday Night_

Daniel knew he was drunk on the overly expensive red wine and being a drama queen, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He slouched over the table with a long-suffering sigh and rested his forehead on the cool wood for a moment, before turning his head slightly to glance up at Sebastian next to him with one eye. He registered a blurry motion and then his friend was patting his back, going “there, there”, making him chuckle a little. He started mumbling, half towards the table, face angled just enough towards Seb to give him at least a chance of catching what he was saying over the soft but insistent bustle of the restaurant.

“I still don’t have proper control of the car. I mean, I don’t want to complain, the team is working so hard, and this one is absolutely on me, I left it all on track and it cost me two penalties and 5 places. But being aggressive and toeing the line is all I can do to get points, and if I can't rely on the car to Keep me just this side of fair," he sighed heavily. "I know Red Bull has totally spoiled me with the cars and the set-ups, and most of the time I love a challenge, but I just felt like things were looking up, and I know it’ll be a while until there’s a real chance of my move paying off, but then…”

“…then you look at me and realise if I can’t get back to the top with one of the most successful teams ever, how are you going to stand a chance with a recovering ex-top team?”

“Damn, Seb, we sure are two whiny bitches.”

Sebastian shrugged, Daniel could feel it more than see it by the hand that had gone from a sarcastic petting motion to just resting between his shoulder blades, thumb absentmindedly running lazy circles over his shirt.

“I prefer petty over whiny to be honest.”

Dan snorted at the memory of Canada that immediately came to his mind at that word. The sign switch really had been an iconic move.

“Although I really do try and not complain too much. Just drags you down,” Seb continued. Deflating against the table with another heartfelt sigh, Daniel gave a clumsy nod.

“It does,” he agreed. “But venting helps too.”

“Yep.”

Not really wanting to dislodge the soothing hand on his back but feeling like he needed to sit up before he sank further into his self-pity, Dan pushed himself back into an upright position. To his delight, Seb’s arm only dropped down to the backrest of the booth they were sitting in, remaining a warm and reassuring line against his back. He really was so grateful for whatever had led to their conversation on top of that podium in China, and rekindled (or maybe kindled in the first place) a friendship that had been a mere potential during their time as teammates, but hadn’t really been given the time or the space to grow into whatever it was growing into now. Back then, he had appreciated Seb for his humour and his freely given advice and guidance, and how down to earth he had remained.

But he had not known the man sitting next to him quite like this. Seb was watching him expectantly, eyes a little hooded, pupils dark from the low lights of the restaurant and the wine in his blood, index finger of the hand holding his glass distractedly moving up and down along the fragile stem. He looked tired and open and very human. Dan shook his head with a sheepish smile, jarring himself out of his sentimental stupor. He raised his glass towards Seb, tilting it for a toast.

“Here’s to being petty and whiny but eventually coming out on top then.”

Seb smiled wryly and reciprocated the gesture. Their glasses rang melodiously as they met. “Prost.”

They both took a sip of their wine. Daniel couldn’t help the the grin curling onto his lips as he set the glass down. He didn’t know a lot of German, but there was only so long you could go in a very international paddock (and with two German teammates) without picking up some phrases. He probably knew how to say “cheers” (as well as a bunch of inappropriate shit) in at least as many languages as he’d had race wins, and Seb knew it. He loved playing dumb though, and Seb knew that too, or should have known.

“I don’t understand why you’re bringing Alain into this though?”

It must have been the alcohol that kept Seb from rolling his eyes at the – admittedly bad – joke, and instead sent him into a reluctant fit of giggles. He buried his face in his hands – withdrawing the arm that had still been resting behind Dan, to his surprised disappointment. Dan couldn’t actively remember when he had last watched (or made) Seb laugh like that, but it felt good, and he joined in after a couple of seconds of fondly watching his friend.

“God, that was bad.”

“I know, I just couldn’t help it.”

-

It was only when they left the restaurant, cool night air hitting their faces, that they managed to sober up again. Not quite ready to call it a night and hail a taxi yet, they decided to walk a couple of blocks towards the motorhomes. Their shoulders bumped every few steps as one or the other missed a step or stumbled over his own feet.

“You know what’s funny?” Daniel mumbled after a few minutes.

“You mean apart from your face?” Seb snorted at his own horrible joke.

“Ow, Seb, you wound me, I was trying to be serious here.”

“I thought you were going to tell me what’s funny?”

Daniel bumped into him, on purpose this time. “Dick. For real though. Jev asked me about my helmet today, and it got me thinking. Well, that and the interview with Nico.”

“Thinking about what?” Sebastian asked, all teasing gone from his tone.

“About… coming out, I guess. Publicly,” Daniel hesitated for a moment before continuing. Sebastian was listening intently, nodding slightly to encourage him to go on, not interrupting or reacting yet, “I mean, it’s not like I’ve never thought about it before. I wouldn’t have picked those colours if that wasn’t on my mind in some way.”

Daniel stopped walking, lost in thought and trying to put his musings into words.

“That’s a big step,” Sebastian said simply, quietly. Daniel was thankful for the neutral reaction. Much like Seb had needed to hear himself say out loud that he was contemplating retirement, Dan felt like he needed to give air to his thoughts as well, and Sebastian picked up on that and was letting him do just that.

“I’d have to talk about it with my PR team of course. And I’d wait until some more results come rolling it. I don’t want to read articles about how I’m just trying to get media attention or something,” Daniel explained, “But I feel like it might be good for some people to hear it?”

“Give kids like us someone successful to look up to?” Sebastian clarified. His hand had found its way to Daniel’s upper arm somehow, not moving, just grounding him.

“Exactly. I was doing this interview with Nico, and we were just fucking around and I made a joke about him falling in love with my smile and how I could turn him, and then I started wondering how many of us on the current grid, and in the history of the sport are like, not as straight as everybody thinks, you know. And how it would change things if something like that became known. Like you said, give kids like us someone to look up to, show them you can be successful and you don’t have to be ashamed of who you are, because it doesn’t affect what you do and how good you are at the things you invest yourself in. If that might make the difference for someone.”

Sebastian didn’t reply right away, taking his time to weigh the thought and his answer.

“It would definitely have an impact,” he finally said. “It’s not something I feel is right for me. Not yet. But if you feel like it’s the right thing to do for you…” Sebastian squeezed his arm in reassurance. “I’m here.”

Daniel fought the urge to hug him. The effort must have been visible on his face, because Sebastian exhaled a breath of laughter and pulled him in, putting him out of his misery. Daniel wrapped his arms around his shoulders and buried his face in his friend’s neck for a second. He uttered a sigh he hadn’t realised had been stuck in his throat.

“Thank you, Seb,” he mumbled thickly against hist shirt, and then stepped back so that Sebastian was an arm’s length from him, hands still on his shoulders, steadying himself, “I think that’s exactly what I needed to hear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Help me, I have zero clue about writing slow burn… or, well, medium slow burn D:
> 
> Many thanks for reading this far, I hope the chapter didn’t disappoint, and that I’ll manage to write out the next part a little more quickly than this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome^^


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